Memories Alive
by Silicon2123
Summary: Each chapter is a short story of Irina and Nikolai. They are not in chronological order. Rating may get higher as I think of new ideas, but not for now.
1. The Bubble

On Nikolai's third birthday, Irina gave him a jar of bubble solution and a wand. Nikolai was confused; he had never blown a bubble before. Irina sat on the floor across from him and unscrewed the top. With Nikolai's eyes following her every movement, she dipped the wand into the clear solution and blew. The boy's eyes widened. Out of the wand came a strange object. The shiny, rainbow bubble rose into the air. Suddenly, it exploded into a million tiny droplets that showered down onto the boy and his mother. Nikolai jumped up.

"Mama, where did it go? Where is it?"

Irina smiled as she looked into her boy's worried eyes.

"Do not worry, Nikolai. It is a bubble. That is what they do." She told him. His worries assuaged, he replied tentatively,

"Can I try?" Irina handed him the jar and the plastic wand. Nikolai dipped the wand into the solution and blew hard, but nothing came out. He tried again, but the same thing happened. Irina could see the frustration building up.

"Nikolai," she said patiently, "You must blow softly, carefully. Bubbles are very delicate. You must treat them with care." Nikolai heeded his mother's words, and out of the wand came the most beautiful shape he had ever seen.

"A bubble." He said breathlessly. Irina pulled her son into her lap, and together they watched the bubble begin its journey upward.

It didn't pop until it hit the ceiling.


	2. Of Busy Boys and Bicycles

One fall afternoon, a little six year old boy ran out the door of his house, closing it quietly behind him. His mother had given him permission to ride his new bicycle. Nikolai stood next to his bike, admiring the shiny blue metal. He threw his leg over the side and hoisted himself up. The pedals began to rotate as his small legs pumped as hard as they could. Nikolai grinned as the wind rushed through his blonde curls.

Irina stood in the kitchen making lunch. She smiled to herself as the thought of the joy a single material object could bring to a small boy. She remembered when she took him outside to see his present. She led him out the door with her hand over his eyes. When she drew her hand away, she watched his expression change from confusion, to surprise, and then to elation. She loved the last one the best. Nikolai threw his arms around the waist of his mother and hugged her hard. Irina hugged him back.

The lunch being finished, Irina looked out the window of the kitchen. She saw Nikolai speeding along the sidewalk. Suddenly, the front tire of his bicycle hit a rock and fell, flipping Nikolai over the handlebars! Irina dropped the pot of pasta she had cooked, the slippery noodles sliding all over the wooden floor. She rushed outdoors to Nikolai's side. The boy wasn't hurt badly, just scared. He looked up at his mother, who was even scarier.

"Where is your helmet?" she shouted. Nikolai began to cry. Irina softened a little. "I'm sorry Nikolai. I just love you. I care about you, and must ride with a helmet! You could have died!" Nikolai smiled.

"Silly mommy, children don't die. Only old people." Irina picked up her son and held him facing backwards. She didn't want him to see her cry.


	3. Spaghetti Night

It was messy. It was unusual. It was new. It was weird. It was unforgettable. Oh yes, it was Spaghetti Night at the Spasky residence.

Nikolai ran circles around the house, singing nursery rhymes to made-up melodies as Irina boiled water for the pasta.

"Nikolai, stop running! You're making me dizzy!" Irina said in exasperation. Nikolai slowed down and trotted over to his mother.

"Where are the noodles?" He asked curiously. Irina handed him a long, thin stick of pasta. Nikolai stuck it in his mouth and chewed. "Mama, you made a mistake. This isn't a noodle. It's all hard and crunchy, not soft and squishy."

"That's what noodles are like before you cook them, Nikolai. That's why I'm boiling the water." Irina explained.

"Oh." Nikolai said simply, and continued his orbit around the kitchen. Irina dropped the hard pasta into the water a little after it began to bubble. She picked up her big wooden spoon and began to stir. By this time, Nikolai was pretending to be a plane and making engine sounds with his tongue.

"What are you now?" Irina asked her son.

"I'm an Mi-8 attack helicopter!" Nikolai said excitedly. Irina's eyebrows shot up. How did he hear of that? She must watch her mouth in the future. He picked up on more then she realized. Suddenly, Nikolai made a very loud noise and fell to the floor. Irina jumped.

"Nikolai, what was that?"

"Mama, mama! I just bombed an enemy city!" Irina grinned. She was so proud of her son. He would make a fabulous KGB agent in the future, just like his mother. Irina gave the spaghetti a stir. The noodles were almost ready.

"Nikolai, go get your special plate from the cabinet. The spaghetti is close to being finished."

Nikolai ran straight into the cabinet, bounced back, and opened the wooden door. In it, he found his special blue plate. He marveled over it for a moment before carefully taking it out and setting it at his place at the table. Irina strained the pasta and put it back into the pot. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a jar of tomato sauce. After quickly heating it up, she took the pasta and the sauce and sat down next to Nikolai.

"Okay Nikolai, are you ready?"

"Yeah!" Nikolai nearly shouted. Irina took the spoon and plopped a heap of slippery noodles onto his plate. Nikolai grabbed his fork and dug in as his mother ladled sauce onto her own plate.

"Ah! Mama! You got sauce on me!" A speck of hot red tomato sauce had accidentally hit Nikolai's cheek.

"Oh-" But Irina didn't get a chance to finish, because Nikolai had grabbed the sauce, put some in his spoon, and flung it at her. He missed her face, instead hitting the counter top behind them. "Nikolai, how dare you!" Irina screamed and stood up, but Nikolai took aim once more and found his target. Irina sat back down and wiped spaghetti sauce out of her eye. With a death glare in her eyes, she gracefully dipped her perfectly manicured hand into the bowl of sauce and flicked it at her son. Nikolai stared up at her with big doe eyes.

"Oh, Nikolai, I'm sor-" Nikolai took a fistful of the sauce and threw it at the unsuspecting woman. Irina reciprocated in a similar manner. Nikolai grabbed his pasta and dropped it on his mother's head. Irina threw hers at his chest. One of the noodles went awry and fell down his shirt. As he grabbed his stomach in panic, Irina took the moment do dribble sauce onto his head. Quick as a cat, he jumped up and overturned the bowl of sauce onto his mother's head. Irina couldn't move in time. Her lightning fast reflexes soon found work though, after she grabbed her son and pulled him in for a big red hug. Nikolai responded by taking a handful of spaghetti and stuffing it down the back of his mother's uniform. Irina jumped up on impulse, flinging sauce and pasta bits everywhere. She made out to grab Nikolai, but slipped on the sauce covered floor and fell hard.

Nikolai calmly walked over and stood on his mother's back. He smiled and pumped his fist in victory. Irina flipped over, flinging her child up in the air. She caught him on his way back down.

"You may have won this time, but I'll be back! Now, you must…" she laughed evilly, "take a bath!" Nikolai screamed in protest and tried to wiggle out of his mother's arms, but Irina had a grip of steel. With red streaks in their blonde hair and noodles hanging out of the folds of their clothes, the two surveyed their masterpiece. Nikolai smiled with glee at he picked a long piece of pasta off his mother's shoulder and slurped it down. Irina licked her fingers and looked lovingly at her son, who later stained the bathwater red.


	4. First Plane Ride

The first time Nikolai was in a plane, Irina was flying. Irina had to go on a mission spur of the moment, and she could find nobody to babysit her five year old son, so he came along. He enjoyed sitting next to his mother in the front looking at all the colorful buttons, though Irina warned him not to touch them. Nikolai was slightly scared during takeoff. He had never experienced that sudden drop of pressure and strange feeling in his ears. The brave little boy just gripped the seat hard and looked out the big window, trying to enjoy the scenery. As soon as Irina reached a good height, she took one hand away from the controls and used it to pat Nikolai's head.

"How are you doing?" She asked.

"Fine." Nikolai replied shakily, but tried to steady himself. His mother was brave, and he could be brave too. Not too long after, Nikolai became used to the new environment. His discomfort faded to pleasure, which after a while of looking at the same clouds, faded to boredom. The boredom didn't last long and promptly faded to sleep. Irina chuckled. Only he could fall asleep as they were flying over enemy territory. She wished she hadn't been forced to accept this mission, as it was fairly dangerous, and she didn't like subjecting her son to such danger. However, one thing led to another, and Irina found herself in a stealth bomber, five year old son beside her.

As she approached the target, she readied the missiles. Nikolai was still sound asleep. Irina gave the radar a quick glance. She would have to execute this quickly. She launched the missiles without a second thought. Irina could see smoke beneath her, and was satisfied. Another mission accomplished. Who said she was losing her touch? Suddenly, a green dot appeared on the radar. She was being shot at! She rose higher into the air, but the other plane still followed. She shot back, but to no avail. The other side had much more advanced technology than she did. Irina swore quietly, so as not to wake her son, who miraculously had slept through the whole thing. Then, a panel of buttons lost their light. She had been hit! Irina, who had already taken the precaution of dressing Nikolai and herself for ejection grabbed her son, and jumped out the door of the plane. Nikolai's eyes blinked open.

"Mama?" He asked tentatively. Then he looked down. "Mama!" he screamed as the pair flew downwards from 50,000 feet. Irina sighed. She had never wanted to bring him along. By this time, Nikolai was crying out of fear and holding as tight as he could to his mother.

"I'm sorry Nikolai!" Irina shouted over the rush of air. Before Nikolai could look up, Irina bent her finger back, and jabbed her son's arm with the needle that spouted up from under her fingernail. He was out. After a few more minutes of freefalling, Irina pulled the parachute. The two safely touched down on a grassy hillside, and Irina sprinted over to the nearest shelter, so as not to be seen.

By the time Nikolai woke up, his mother was carrying him through the familiar door to his house.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep Nikolai. We had a busy day." Irina whispered to him. Nikolai happily obliged, and Irina lay him down in his bed, removed his shoes, and changed him into pajamas. As she was tucking him in, he groggily opened his eyes once more.

"Mama?" he asked slowly, "Am I alive?"

"Yes," Irina laughed. "You are most definitely alive."


	5. Isabel's Dilemma or Nikolai's First Word

**Author's Note:** I know this chapter is very melodramatic, and I'm sorry about it. It's just that my muse was just dead, and this was the first idea that came to my mind.

"Can you say 'snow' Nikolai?" Irina and Nikolai were sitting in the boy's bedroom one wintery day, looking out the window. Irina was trying desperately to get her son to say something, but he had never yet talked before, and did not seem very keen on starting. Irina tried again. "Can you say 'cold'?" Nikolai could not. "What about 'ice' Nikolai? Can you say 'ice'? Can you say 'ice' for me?" Still nothing. Irina sighed and gave up for the day. She picked up her son and went into the kitchen for breakfast, though it was only five o'clock in the morning. Irina routinely rose early. Her habits did not change from those that she had in the KGB. Nikolai tended to wake up a little after she did. Irina set her son down gently in his highchair, and went about making fresh applesauce. It was Nikolai's favorite. She heated the apples until they could be pierced by the tip of the knife without much pressing. She then proceeded to core the apples and mash them up. After they were sufficiently mushy, she'd add a variety of spices, including cinnamon, nutmeg, pie spice, the works. When she had finally finished, she spooned some into a small plastic bowl for Nikolai, and some for herself. Suddenly, she heard a sharp knock at the door. Irina rose from her chair suspiciously. Who would be calling on her this early in the morning? Irina stealthily shot over to the hall closet and grabbed the small black revolver she kept in a locked box on the very top. Gun pressed to her side, she opened the door a crack. When she saw who it was though, she opened the door fully to let the woman in. Irina kept her face impassive, though the surprise that erupted inside her threatened to spill over.

"Isabel, may I ask what you are doing here?" Irina knew Isabel hated waking up early. Then she noticed her visitor was not wearing couture. Rather, she opted for a very lose top and jeans. Isabel Kabra opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly ran back out the door. When she returned, she swayed a little in her place. Irina noticed a fleck of vomit at her lip. "Oh no. Oh God no." Irina whispered. The normally calm cool and collected Isabel burst into tears. Irina patted her back in a motherly way while leading her to a comfortable chair. Irina ran, grabbed Nikolai, and returned, sitting across from the distressed woman.

"So what do you plan to do?" She asked seriously.

"I don't know!" Isabel sobbed. "I just don't know. I didn't mean to. It was a mistake! It's just, Ian was asleep early, and Vikram, he…well…Look, this was not my choice. I told him not to. I told him it was asking for trouble, but the man gets what he wants. Even people. Even me. He is so going to kill me. We both know his parents specified one child only. They're worse than he is! They're going to attempt his murder unless he gets rid of me first!" Something in Irina softened. She now knew that two lives were in danger. Isabel's, and her unborn baby's. She moved next to Isabel and held her hand as she wept. Suddenly, the pair heard a crack. Irina quickly stood up. Another one soon followed. Then stomping. Someone had broken down the door. Irina's gun lay on the chair next to her. She handed Nikolai to Isabel and kept her eyes trained on the hallway. Isabel held Nikolai tight and she gently bounced him up and down to keep him from crying. Vikram Kabra entered, armed with a gun of his own. He shoved Irina aside looked right at Isabel.

"Are you pregnant?" He roared. Isabel cowered. Vikram repeated his question louder. Isabel looked at him through teary eyes and nodded. Vikram aimed his gun at Isabel, who still had Nikolai on her lap. He started to pull the trigger, but Irina got there first. A shot rang out and Vikram crumpled and hit the ground hard, knocking him unconscious. Nikolai burst into tears. As a frightened Isabel tried to calm him and herself at the same time, Irina dragged the man out the door. Irina had only wanted to hit his leg. She hadn't wanted him dead. It was a very good thing Irina never missed, or Vikram Kabra might not have ever woken up . When she got back, she took the hysterical baby from the hysterical mother-to-be-again. Irina was furious beyond belief. Not only did that moron try to kill her best friend, he almost shot her son! She doubted she had ever been so angry in her life, but worked to console the rest of the occupants of the room. When Nikolai calmed down, he looked up into his mother's blue eyes. He sat for a moment and stared at her. "Ice." He said.


	6. First Day Of School

School is a milestone in every child's life. But, even though she knew it was inevitable, Irina couldn't bear to leave her son for so long. As she packed Nikolai's lunch, she worried. What if he didn't make friends? What if the other boys were mean to him? What if a secret agent was masquerading as his teacher and planned to kidnap him as soon as the left? Irina brushed those thoughts from her mind as she sliced an apple. No. He'll be fine. He is a bright child. But as Irina watched him walk into the large brick building, she couldn't shake off her fear of dread.

As the day progressed, Irina tried to get accustomed to the lack of his place setting at lunch. She just couldn't keep her heart from racing every time she looked up and couldn't see him in his seat. It was hard for her to not have him by her constantly.

By the time school was over, Irina had very short fingernails (nearly poisoning herself in the process), and she could have sworn she had much more gray hair. As Nikolai came running out of the building, Irina nearly fainted with relief. He appeared to be unharmed. She gathered her son in a hug and ran her fingers through his curly hair.

"How was your day?" She asked, her voice masking all feelings she had.

"It was good." Nikolai said simply.

"Did anything fun happen?"

"Yeah."

"What?" but before the boy had a chance to answer, Irina was greeted by another woman. She stood tall with brown hair that was swept into a bun. Irina assumed her to be no older than she.

"You are Nikolai's mother, I presume?"

"Yes. Is everything okay?" Irina replied nervously.

"It is nice to meet you. I am Ms. Sokolov, his teacher."

"It is nice to meet you too. Is there anything wrong?"

"Well, your son is exceptionally bright, however, he seems to have a bit of a problem with some of his classmates."

"Please explain." Irina requested, sternly looking at her son.

"Today at lunch, Nikolai was in a fight with two other boys."

"Are they okay?"

"They got away with minor bruising. However, I must ask that you discipline your son accordingly, or more action will have to be taken."

"It will not happen again. Thank you for your time." Irina turned and walked briskly away, her son following cautiously in her wake.

"What got into you?" She reprimanded her son.

"They were mean." Nikolai said indignantly.

"But that's not how you handle situations like that!" His mother said.

"But, you do."

Irina had no response.


	7. The Poem

A/N: The poem is not mine. It was written by Robert Frost. It's called "The Road Not Taken."

"Mama?"

"What is it, Nikki?"

"I'm thirsty."

Irina sighed, returning to a standing position. She had been crouched on the ground next to Nikolai's bed, trying to get the small boy to sleep.

"If I get you a glass of water, will you go to sleep?" The tired mother asked. Nikolai looked at her with large, innocent eyes and shrugged.

"I don't know." Irina smoothed his hair.

"Fine, then. Water it is." Irina left the room and walked towards the kitchen. After filling a plastic cup with water, she turned back into her boy's room.

"Here you go, Nikolai. Drink." Nikolai gratefully took the cup and raised it to his lips. When it was all gone, he licked his lips.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Are you any more tired now?"

"Nope."

"Do you want to hear a story?"

"Yeah!" Nikolai said excitedly. Irina went to grab a book, but Nikolai called her back.

"No, mama. Make one up." Irina began to shake her head no, but Nikolai gave her an offer she couldn't resist. "If you do, I promise I'll go to sleep." Tempted by the possibility of getting to sleep herself, Irina sighed exasperatedly and sat in the rocking chair beside the boy's bed.

"What about a poem?"

"Fine." Nikolai pouted.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;"

"Mama," Nikolai interrupted, "what's undergrowth?"

"Shhh! I'll tell you in the morning. Just listen.

Then took the other, as just as fair,  
And having perhaps the better claim,  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,  
And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
I doubted if I should ever come back.  
I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference."

"Mama," Nikolai whispered, "what does it mean?"

"In short, it can mean that the choices we make will define our life."

"So if I chose to go to sleep right now, it will have an impact on my life?"

"Yes."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good. Go to sleep." Nikolai smiled, and closed his eyes. Irina collapsed into the chair and fell asleep on the spot.


	8. The Tooth Fairy

Irina sat in the big chair in her living room with a very thick book. She loved losing herself to her characters. She loved going on their adventures, eating their foods, and socializing with their friends. She was brought back to reality by a loud scream from her son's room. Irina dropped the book and rushed in.

"What is it, Nikolai? What's wrong?" Nikolai thrust his hand in front of his mother's face. In it was a small white tooth.

"Mama, I'm broken!" he sobbed. Irina let slip a relieved smile.

"No, Nikolai. You lost a tooth. That is normal for six year olds." He lifted his tearstained face and met her gaze.

"It is?" Irina wiped a tear off her son's nose.

"Yes. Perfectly normal. Now, in place of that tooth, another one is going to grow. It'll be a grownup tooth."

"A grownup tooth." Nikolai repeated, liking the way it sounded.

"Right."

"So is the tooth fairy going to come?"

"What?" Irina asked, confused. She had never heard of this…tooth fairy.

"Benjamin told me about it." Nikolai explained. "Benjamin says that when you lose a tooth, you put it under your pillow. Then, at night, the tooth fairy comes and takes your tooth, then leaves you a quarter in its place."

"Would you like the tooth fairy to come?" Irina asked.

"Oh, yes." Nikolai nodded.

"Then she shall come."


	9. The Names

"Whacha doing?" Nikolai skipped into the room his mother was working in. Irina sat at her desk, sorting through some papers and adding a mark or a name every so often.

"Paperwork." Was her short reply. She didn't have much time to talk. Irina wanted to get it over with already. You know, the worst part of a murder wasn't the dead body, as many people presume. It was the paperwork afterwords. How would you like to try and write out a signature while your bloody hands are shaking?

"Will you come play with me?" Irina shook her head no. Nikolai waited a few seconds, then asked again. "How about now?"

"No, Nikki! I have to work."

"Fine." Nikolai pouted and left the room. Irina sighed. She wished he'd realize how much she would rather be with him. But her work was confidential, and six year olds had constantly running mouths. That's what she told her coworkers. But she just didn't want him to see the names. The names. Cold black letters on a stoic white background. The reminders of people who were no longer. No matter how many operations she had been on or how thirsty she was for revenge, the names always got to her. Her mother had once told her that names were a window to the soul.

---  
"Really, mama?" Irina looked skeptically up at her mother.

"Yes. Do you know what your name means?" her mother replied.  
"Peace."

"Right."

"Does that mean my soul is peaceful? It doesn't feel peaceful." Irina asked.  
"But it is, and because of you, so is mine."

---  
Irina stared at the names running down the paper.

Alexander. Warrior.

Adam. Man.

David. Beloved.

Not anymore. Irina thought of her own son. Nikolai. Victory. Her victory. She hoped to never see him on the back page of the Lucian newsletter like these men were sure to be. Irina took a deep breath, because that was her duty. It would do her well to finish. When she had filled in the last blank, she locked the papers in the cabinet and went off to find her son. He sat on the floor of his bedroom, absentmindedly stacking colorful blocks. He looked up at his mother with hopeful eyes.

"Are you ready to play now?"

"Almost."

"What must you do first?" Nikolai asked, slightly disappointed.

"Nikolai, did you know names are a window to the soul?"


	10. Why?

"Why?

"Why do the leaves turn red? They…just do."

"Why?"

"Because the chlorophyll in them…stops working."

"Why?"

"Because that's what it does in the fall."

"Why?"

"I don't know why! Because I said so, that's why."

"Mama," Nikolai complained.

"For heaven's sake, I don't know. Take it for what it is."

"Fine," the boy pouted. The two walked along the sidewalk in silence.

"Aren't the leaves pretty?"

"Yes, mama." The resounding crunch beneath their feet accompanied them down the road. Nikolai picked one up and broke a piece off.

"Why is it crackly and not smooth?"

"That's what happens when it falls off the tree. It dries up."

"Why?"

"It doesn't get any more water."

"Why?"

"Because it's not attached to the tree."

"Why?"

"Because it fell off."

"Why?"

Irina sighed.

"Aren't the leaves pretty, Nikolai?"


	11. Hair

Irina brushed her slivery-blond hair in front of the hotel room mirror. It was perfectly cleaned (and it should be the room cost a pretty penny). The analog clock blinked nine o clock in the morning as Irina paused. How long had it been since she last had a day to herself? When had she last slept late? Irina never had a cozy life. She was unaccustomed to lazy days, waking up whenever and lazily showering after sunrise. Although, she mused, it was not at all unpleasant. Though she found the perfumed soaps and shampoos the maids provided impractical (any scent, no matter how small, can give a spy away), she secretly enjoyed how her hair smelled like roses. All of the tangles had been brushed from her hair, but still, she pulled the bristles through. Her light hair stood out against her deep blue eyes. So light she had received many comments on how pale her hair was. From so many people. ** Approximately fifteen years ago**  
Irina, he whispered. She sighed, letting her head fall back.  
Rin, you are so beautiful. A smile twists red lips. She runs her hand through his dark brown hair, cut short.  
Never cut it, he says, releasing the clip that held Irina s long, gold hair out of her face. Promise me. If you want me to respond, Irina breathed, You need to take your lips off my *gasp* neck. **  
She closed her eyes in front of the mirror. Her hair had been cut short all too soon.  
What as a mere promise to an espionage agent?  
(It was everything, but Irina would never admit.)  
**When Nikolai was seven years old**  
He reached over and playfully tugged a lock of her hair.  
Ow! Irina batted her son s hand away, his small fist taking with it two light strands. Sorry! Nikolai yelped. I didn t mean to! It s hair, darling, she said as she ruffled his own. I have more. Nikolai nodded in agreement. Me too. He reached up to pull one of his hairs, then laid his collection on the table. His dark brown hair had gotten long, Irina noticed, and nearly impossible to comb.  
Mother, why isn t my hair like yours? The boy asked.  
He received no reply.  
Was his hair like mine? Irina stood and stiffly walked out of the room, leaving her son alone on the couch with a mix of hairs and memories. **  
Irina brought her hand to the mirror, dirtying it with handprints. Perhaps she would check out early.  
Perhaps she would start on another mission.  
Perhaps she would do some snooping. Perhaps she would don a costume and makeup, become someone else. Perhaps she would wear a wig. 


End file.
